


Sea of coarse water ❥

by BrownMouse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxious Zayn, Blowjobs, Bottom Harry, Bottom Zayn, Cute Niall, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Harry-centric, M/M, OT5, Pining, Possessive Zayn, Rimming, Romance, Smut, Top Harry, Top Zayn, Triggers, Zayn-centric, relationship, zarry - Freeform, zianourry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:15:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26174071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrownMouse/pseuds/BrownMouse
Summary: I can feel bile rising within. I can hear my heart thumping in my eardrums, and I can sense it breaking into a million scattered pieces. I hate him in this moment.. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. But then, why can't I look away? Why can't I say a word? You've got me in cuffs, and you don't even know it.Or ⚡️Zayn battles with himself, battles with Harry, battles with himself about Harry, until it all comes crumbling down, and the truth is relieved.
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Harry Styles
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Sea of coarse water ❥

When he's standing there looking out to the sea of people, and his hair is long down his back, his body lithe and limber as he moves toward the crowd, reaching his arm out, stretching, turning his palm upward, as though he's asking them to rise.. It's no surprise that they do. The masses before him lift their voices to the flick of his little finger, and I think to myself; 'why can't I do the same?' I'm wrapped around him more than they are.. I know I am.

He turns to me and points, asks me what I think, and I lose what I need to say, stumbling again on my words, and it's not the first time this has happened.. No.. It happens all the time. Every damn day, Harry Styles. Every damn day.

🌙

"What to do when you tell a joke, and no one laughs?" He asks, while leaning on a fold out table, one hand resting there, the other in the air, his palm flat and balancing a ripe peach, he'd scored it from the fruit bowl, as he often does post show. Fruit first, then prosciutto, then cheese, then bread. I know his snack board menu.. I know his fast food menu.. I know his fine dining menu.. I know how he likes his toast in t- 

"Zaynie! Have some soda mate. If you don't want beer, make it ginger, yeah?" 

Liam is suddenly beside me, pressing up against my frame, pressing a cold glass bottle into my hand, the lid already uncapped, the steam of bubbles tickling my nose. 

"Ah! Yeah. Thanks Li. I always forget you have my best interests in mind." I bump my shoulder against his, grateful, and he smiles, his soft eyes squinting like they always do. 

"You need to eat too. Bug rolls, pulled pork, coleslaw? That's what's happening tonight at Andy's? You coming? You gotta come." 

Liam always does this. Asks a question, then makes the decision for you, but today like many days, I'm impatient to get to the peace and serenity of my hotel suite. "Ugh, nah mate.. You all go, have fun. I'm knackered." I try to use my voice as a force field, though I reach up to run my fingers through my hair at the same time, and that seems to be the undoing. 

"This is why I'm telling you mate." Liam begins, his thick brows knotting together in a frown. "Like what we talked about the other day, yeah? You gotta get out of your head for a sec. Just with us. I won't leave your side, you know." 

I couldn't help but chuckle under my breath, my heart tearing at the seams, for the consistent loyalty that was Liam's friendship. "You don't have to look after me Li." I smirk at him, and bring my hand from my hair, to rest in his instead, rustling the stiff waves, dislodging the gel that had held it tight during the concert. "I'm not Niall.." It comes out shorter than I'd intended it to, and I can tell Liam is losing hope. 

"I know what will get you out." Liam extends his arm, pointing across the room, to the edge where Louis is leaning against a wall, fiddling with a lighter, and clutching a scrapped piece of paper beside it. "That man, is getting a new tattoo, and he thinks you should too!" Suddenly, his hands are swift on my back, shoving me across the floor, my feet stumbling, but nonetheless, leading me toward the eldest.. The mad hatter. 

Louis peers up to me, just as a puff of smoke leaves his lips, hitting me square in the face, and I'm cursing at him, and he's cursing back, pulling me from 'Daddy,' and telling the younger lad to 'foock off,' though his mouth is turned in a friendly smirk.. as it always is. 

"Getting crossbones, here." Louis holds up his left arm, letting the rumpled piece of paper fall to the ground, and he's kicking it away. "Was drawing it out. But yeah, right here." He taps his wrist, then looks to me, as though he wants my opinion. 

"Yeah, cool. It'll look good Lou." I smile at him, nodding, before I lean down to pick up the trash he'd littered. I don't hold back my laugh as I unfold it to A4 size. "Yeah, don't show them this Lou. That's hardly a crossbone." 

"That's why it belongs on the floor!" Louis snatches it from me, and immediately sets fire to it with his lighter, laughing as it turns to ash before our eyes. 

"C'mon mate." He's quick to switch, changing the subject, with a raise of his eyebrow. "Come out with me. We'll get this tat done, then we'll go meet the boys at Andy's after. You won't regret it in the morning!" He chirps, and I can't help but huff in disagreement. 

"Louis! That's not what people say! It's more like; you WILL regret it in the morning,' idiot." 

"Zaynie.. Zaynie.. Zayn. When have I ever let you down, mate? Hm? When? Wh-en?" His entire arm snakes it's way around my shoulders, hugging me in, pulling me forward. It's true.. Louis hardly ever let's me down. Ever. 

"Mmm.. just that one time when we were out hopping and you didn't notice the stench that wa-"

"UH-uh uh uh!" His pointer finger is almost up my nose as he cuts me off. "We don't speak about that, love. You know we don't." 

"You don't speak about it love. I do. All the fuckin time." I laugh as I finish my sentence, as I finish the dreaded walk across the room, the one that led me past H.. but I'm still laughing, and as much as I ache within, in the pit of my stomach, Louis has pulled me to the surface, at least for now.

🌙

When I step inside, I try to picture the quiet parlour we'd just been in. The one we'd sat in for hours, while our wrists and our forearms were being fucked up with more ink.. The parlour that had reclining leather chairs, a snobby receptionist, and Morrissey from The Smiths blaring on repeat through the speakers in the background, obviously the music choice of the tattoo artist, and definitely not the desk lady. I try to picture that scene in my head, but the people here begin to pull at my arms the second they see me. They're all doting and pouting their lips, begging for the attention of someone they only know as a modern day celebrity. They're stragglers, and Louis can tell. He yanks me in, a little harsh, but he has to be, to save me from the drudgery that would be 'getting through the god damn door.' 

"Oi!! Andy! ANDY!!" Louis is already screaming, standing on his tiptoes (bless him) to catch a look over the swarm of heads, pointing out a dirty gold mop of long hair. Long.. Long. Andys hair, although different in colour, is long like-

"ZAYN! Bro! You good?? It's Ando.. You know him!"

I blink a few times, and huff out a laugh before I even manage to come around. I reach out, on autopilot, offering my hand to Andy to shake, though I'm not getting much in return! The pair of them are silent, just for another second, and then they're both laughing, Louis leading it with his loud boom. 

"We just got tattoos! We're a bit faint I guess. Could really use some food and booze!"

In that moment, I thank my lucky stars for Louis and his quick wit. I can see Andy's face clearly now, and my cheeks are blushed in the low changing lights. Of course I know him. 

"Both of you, get over there, get yourselves a drink, and there's burgers and pulled beef leftover. Pork too!" Andy grins at us, his white smile almost fluorescent in the blue dimmers. 

"Thanks mate! We'll catch you soon, yeah?" Louis' voice is now at a permanent level of 'nightclub yelling,' but the thing is, Andy's place is not a nightclub, it's a penthouse, and I know if it all gets too much, at least there'll be an empty room and a spare bed I can slip to, somewhere in this noise box. 

I try to laugh and smile as I'm tugged through the crowd of people, and when we make it to a small gap, we're only there for a half second, before we're launching into another crowd, heading toward the long kitchen island, marble topped and scattered with all kinds of open liquor bottles, expensive wines and floral tainted bears. We've arrived at this party late, and it's wild and unruly, no rules seem to be in place anymore, the music is growing ever the louder.. It's thumping in my head, and it sounds a mix of jazz and electronica, and the words are few and far between, and are spoken in French. I'm actually laughing now.. really laughing. Louis turns to me with a smirk, shoving a cold one into my open palms. "Told you I wouldn't let you down." He peers up to me, his stupid face so wonderfully stupid. I lift my beer to his in a toast. 

"Cheers to your awful tattoo, and your equally as bad drawing of it."

Louis snorts at that, clanking his glass to mine loudly, the tops of our drinks bubble over and spill down our forearms, and I half expect him to say 'bottoms up,' but his eyes are drifting through my head suddenly, and he's up on his tiptoes again. 

"There's those naughty rascals." He leans in a little closer, tickling my nose with the top of his feather dusted hair. "Doing shots without us!" He snarks, and now he's rushing over, like a toddler with never ending energy, and it makes me shake my head, forever fond of him. Unlike my band mates, I take my time to weave through the sea of people, some I know, some I'm acquainted with, some I don't know, and others I wish to see puking their guts up on the roadside by morning. Unlike my bandmates, I don't want to be 'friends with everyone.' I want quality, not quantity. I want the quality and quantity of just one. But it's not for me to say.

"ZAYN!" Another loud and wailing sound, desperate hands waving high in the air, and I almost have to groan and turn away, but I see a flash of blonde hair, and suddenly, I'm striding towards it. I excuse myself when I bump into a slight lady, her wine red dress long and silky, I notice her eyeing me in my peripheral vision, and I keep my feet moving forward. 

"ZAYN!" Again, and then, "OOMPF!!" My chest is flooded with force, that same blonde hair I recognised, is now curled under my neck. I smile down at him, one arm coming to wrap around his slim waist. "Hey babes. You okay?" I step back just an inch, bobbing my knees, ensuring I'm eye to eye. 

"Yeah! M' okay! Just thought, if I get tired, I know you'll be the first one to catch an Uber with me?" Niall blinks up at me, his wide blue orbs lined in red and a little dry. "Who were you with just now Ni? Did you take something?" I peer around the room, and it's obviously useless to do so, as there are so many heads, you wouldn't bother counting! I tighten my hold on Nialls hips, and before I know it, I'm guiding him to the side of the flat, where I can see there is a suede black lounge, a giant U shape, and even though there are people sprawled over it, there's at least a small corner I know we can fit. 

"Come here. Come on. We can sneak in here." I tuck myself against the arm of the couch, and tug Niall down, almost forceful in the way I place him beside me. "Are you okay?" I ask again, and neither of us question why I've become protective. It's Niall. It's the way we all are, always have been.

"Yeah Zee.. All good! Just been havin a chat.. A good ol' chat to Reid from PGA Tour, cause he's been playing his best game yet.. and like, I asked him if he could watch my swing the next time we're in that part of the states, and he's so nice Zayn, all he said was.. YEAH!!

I nod my head, encouraging Niall to go on, as he's talking about Golf, and I don't know what any of it means, so it's best to just pretend I'm listening. His thick accent is thicker with the alcohol present in his system, and I can hear it as a blur behind my ear, constant and slightly soothing, but my eyes are focused elsewhere. Long.. long.. long. There it is. I breathe out, pursing my lips like Louis does when he French inhales.. yeah.. just like that. 

"HARRY!"

Just like that. I'm alert, like I haven't been all night, and my eyes are clearer than a sunny day. I'm leaning, my neck is straining to see over the crowd.. and there's definitely a group forming around the long wide timber dining table, hooting and whistling, making more of a racket than they had been before. 

I see it again. His hair, and his fingers this time. He's holding his dark mane above his head, just standing there, looking down, like he's watching someone tie his shoe. Another moment passes, and Nialls voice has cut off completely.. maybe he's staring as well. Waiting for the moon to rise. Waiting for the sun. Waiting for; the star. 

And just like that, he comes. Someone's holding his pale wrist, helping him step onto a chair, then helping him again, step onto the table. His platform. His stage. He's already had one tonight. Now he wants another. Pop star. Ever selfish.

"Fuck, Harry." The words are out, blunt and spiteful, before I could even stop them. "What the fuck is he doing!?" 

He's planted himself firmly, a metre above everyone else, and his chest is bare, his tight black jeans rolled above his ankles, his feet - shoeless. He shifts his shoulders back, his faintly printed blouse falling to the surface below, and now I can see everything. Around his waist, there's a golden chain, fine jewellery, linked delicately in a full circle, holding dangly pieces that rattle and sparkle as he begins to swish his hips, his arms raising high above his head. He's humming or talking lowly, and no one can hear above their own voices, but the music in the background is a dead giveaway. He's dancing Bollywood, his pelvis striking this way and that, his hands curling through each other like two Egyptian cobras, playing before they mate. 

I can feel bile rising within. I can hear my heart thumping in my eardrums, and I can sense it breaking into a million scattered pieces. I hate him in this moment.. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. But then, why can't I look away? Why can't I say a word Harry? You've got me in cuffs, and you don't even know it. You've got me yearning and praying on my knees every fucking night. And yet, you still have the audacity to do this to me. 

After a full thirty seconds, I'm about to shift my gaze. No, in fact, I'm about to stand up, and storm out! But something makes me stay. Something makes my heart leap further up my throat, and this time, it's not because I want to choke myself. It's one of those forbidden fruits - like that stupid fucking peach that sat upon his palm. It's those dirty green eyes, catching mine in the changing lights. His pupils are dilating as I stare back, and I'm not even bothered to adjust my open-mouthed facial expression. I want him to see what he does to me. 

Oh. Cleopatra. Cleopatra. Cleopatra.

🌙


End file.
